Black and Purple
by YeahScience
Summary: They say the enemy of your enemy is your friend. And who did Jesse have left besides… Marie Schrader? Can the two ex-criminals prove that the best way to bring people together is hate? (Set immediately after Felina, Black and Purple tells the post-series story of how Jesse and Marie deal with Walt's empire crumbling around them)
1. Enemy of My Enemy

_Where do I go? What do I do? _Jesse's heart is racing faster than his car, which is speeding down the abandoned road. As high as he is on life, right now, he feels even more hopeless than when his mother kicked him out of his house. Jesse has nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no way to start his life over again. He's going to live the rest of his days on the run: the escaped convict, Jesse Bruce Pinkman, former partner of the great Heisenberg.

Unless...

Jesse slams on the brakes, thrust forward from the inertia.

_Where do you go if you want to escape someone?_

A sly grin spread across his face.

_The last place they'd ever look for you._

Jesse reoriented himself, jerked the car into gear, and sped out into the black night.

* * *

Marie jumped at the shriek of the kettle boiling away on the stove. Disturbed by the inhuman, yet tortured sound it made, she immediately shut off the flame and the kettle's raw voice trickled away into nothingness. Marie reached blindly into a cabinet to pull out a mug, her vision cloudy in the dimly-lit, midnight kitchen. When she pulled out the mug, Marie screamed and dropped it, shattering into several large shards on the tile floor. The bold letters imprinted on it burned in her vision, even when she closed her eyes.

DEA DEA DEA DEA

DEAD

Rigid from shock, Marie leaned against the counter and slid down to the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest and sunk her face into her soft, purple robe. And she sobbed, vulnerable and childlike. She hugged her legs close, desperate for some kind of warmth around her, to fend off the loneliness that had been smothering her for months. Her cries echoed through the empty house, with no ears to hear them.

_I haven't looked at that mug since…_ Marie couldn't even finished her thought, as recalling the memory of that day brought to her body new, vigorous sobs.

She indulged herself, losing track of time. _How long have I been crying down here? _she asked herself, standing up slowly and stiffly due to her sleeping muscles. Marie wiped her eyes on her sleeve and opened the cabinet to find a new mug. She poured the water in, steeped her tea bag, and added exactly 4 Splenda packets, which she had meticulously arranged on the countertop. She was careful not to step on any shattered ceramic as she walked into the living room.

Her toes wriggled around in the plush comfort of the purple shag rug as she sat, bringing the tea to her lips. Marie immediately recoiled at its taste. _Tepid, _she frowned, setting the mug down on a coaster. _Guess I had been crying for a while._

_12:01, _the clock reads. _I've got to get up in seven hours, _Marie thought resignedly. She hadn't been getting much sleep recently. Nor for the past six and a half months.

_Guess I better go to sleep, _she resolved. _Or try, at least. _Marie stood slowly, shuffling through her cold, desolate, and purple house. She padded softly into her bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack, and eased into bed. Her violet sheets looked black in the midnight shadows.

Marie tenderly slid under her comforter, wrapping herself up in its embrace. Her tense muscles relaxed at the warm touch, making her eyelids heavier. Under the sultry spell of sleep, Marie unknowingly turned over in the bed, facing the side where Hank used to sleep.

She was washed with what felt like a rush of cool air, raising goosebumbs all over her body. She drew the covers in closer to ward off the feeling, but it's too late; it had already permeated her whole being.

The other side of the bed was completely untouched: not a single wrinkle in the sheets or pillow. In fact, the entire side of the room hadn't been disturbed at all. There was a faint coating of dust over everything that was Hank's: his dresser, his nightstand, his lamp. Marie couldn't even bring herself to clean the side of the room.

_God, what I wouldn't give for just another second of Hank's presence, _Marie thought, consumed by grief. _Even another one of his lectures about his precious 'minerals.' _Tears welled up in Marie's eyes, leaving salty trails down her cheek and dotting her pillow. _But he's gone now, and there's nothing to do but lament over what could've been done._

_12:27, _the clock reads. _Damn, I've really got to go to sleep already. _Marie settled once more in her bed, fluffing her pillows and pulling up the covers. Suddenly, a twig snapped right outside the bedroom window, and Marie shot up in her bed. Her whole body was tense, her brain locked in a heightened, fight-or-flight state. She froze, not even daring to breathe. There was someone outside.

With extreme caution, Marie inched out of bed, moving deliberately slow in order to stay quiet. She dropped down to her knees, reached under the bed, and pulled out the knife she had been keeping there since Hank's murder. There was dust on it as well, but Marie didn't even notice as she held it at the ready.

Horrified, Marie recalled the conversation she had with Skyler. _He's back. Walt's back. In Albuquerque. _

_Heisenberg._

_Now he's coming to kill me, just like he killed Hank!_

By this point, Marie could hardly contain herself. She was shaking, barely able to keep a grip on the massive knife. Stepping stiff with fear, yet delicately, Marie snuck out of the bedroom and into the hallway, hugging the walls and staring intently at the floor for any shadows moving across it. Her vision was poor, as everything was so dark she could only make out fuzzy, dark shapes.

_BANG! _Marie shrieked, then recovered herself after she stumbled into a small table in the hallway. Frightened at having given up her location, Marie dodges into the nearby bathroom and wedged herself behind the door. With mounting terror, Marie turned around in the pitch darkness to check behind the shower curtain, taking cues from all the slasher movies she had watched with her husband.

_Nobody. _Breathing a much needed, albeit silent, sigh of relief, Marie allowed herself a few seconds to calm down, before readying her knife and emerging from the bathroom. She continued down the hallway, setting down her feet like she was walking in a mine field. Her heartbeat was in her throat, pounding so hard she was sure whatever intruder there was could hear it. She drops to all fours in order to crawl unseen by the door when

_BANG BANG BANG! _Three deafening, paralyzing knocks on the door and Marie collapsed on the ground, shrieking. She felt like she was about to lose consciousness, _this has got to be a dream, please, don't let me die,_ when whoever is at the door rings the doorbell.

Marie stopped shrieking and paused, confused. _The hell kind of axe murderer or drug lord rings the doorbell? _Marie still didn't feel safe, but at this point she was more perplexed than terrified, and slowly opened the door, standing partially behind it, holding her knife at the ready.

What she saw rendered her unconscious.

"Mrs. Schrader?" Jesse Pinkman timidly asked the woman lying unconscious on the foyer floor.


	2. Midnight

_God, what the hell happened? _Marie sat up slowly, her entire brain fuzzy and her head throbbing. _Was I sleepwalking? _It takes a while for Marie's eyes to adjust in the pitch-black house, but when they do, she almost faints again at who's staring at her awkwardly.

"Um…" Jesse says tentatively. "Mrs. Schrader?" He stretched out his hand, offering to help Marie up. All she could do was sit there on the floor, absolutely dumbfounded. Here was Jesse Pinkman, the druggie who helped Hank hunt down and arrest Heisenberg months ago. And he was _standing in her doorway!_

Marie propped herself up on her elbows, rubbing her head. The knife she had been holding was between the open door and the wall, safely out of sight. _It's a miracle I didn't fall on that. _"Jesse?" she began. "What are you doing here?" Seemed like a perfectly reasonable question, considering he had no reason to be here. He had gone missing since… _All the officers said he was presumed dead. So why the hell is he here?_

"Listen, Mrs. Schrader, I can explain," he began, but anger flashed in Marie and she cut him off.

"You damn well better!" she shouted. Jesse jumped and whipped around to close the front door, which had been open this entire time. He swore that he could hear police sirens; he needed to bunker down, and fast. Marie's eyes darted to the knife, which was still sitting in the very corner of the foyer, just out of her reach. _If I just moved fast enough..._

"Mr. White's dead," Jesse spoke in a low, urgent tone. "He came to kill me and the people that had been keeping me hostage for the past six months and was shot by his own trap. I'm the only one who made it out alive."

Marie's heart stopped. _Heisenberg is dead. The man who was single-handedly responsible for the destruction of his and my families. And he's gone. _Her face didn't show it, but inside, Marie felt a sort of warm elation, the sort of satisfaction one gets for the perfect exaction of revenge. She relished in it for a few seconds, let her body bask in the glow of Walt's death.

Her joy quickly died out, though, as she remembered Skyler. _I can't imagine the phone call she's going to get. She's got Holly, who is _Heisenberg's daughter. _And Flynn… he's taking this whole thing harder than his mother. He hardly talks anymore, doesn't see his friends._

"Wait a second," Marie started. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" _This whole thing could be a lie! Maybe this freak killed Hank!_

"I can tell you everything, Mrs. Schrader," Jesse jumped in, seemingly wholly apologetic and convincing, but Marie cut him off.

"MS. SCHRADER!" she shrieked so loud that Jesse once again had to whip around and make sure the door was bolted shut. There were no sirens sounding or lights flashing in the cul-de-sac, so Jesse assumed everything was safe.

"Sorry, sorry, Ms. Schrader," Jesse corrected himself. "Sorry. But I think you might wanna sit down while I tell you-"

"No!" Anything you have to say to me, you can say right here. By the door. So I can kick you out at the right time." Marie was putting up her best defenses, and couldn't help but feel a little smug. Being married to a DEA officer had done good things for her self-defense strategies.

Jesse sighed, staring down at his raggedy clothes. He looked up after a few silent, remorseful moments and to Marie's surprise, his eyes were brimmed with tears. "You know I was working with your husband to try and bring Mr. White down. He had poisoned my girlfriend's son, unbeknownst to me, just to get me to side with him." Jesse's breath caught in his throat and Marie felt the slightest hint of compassion for him.

"Hank and I were able to coax Mr. White out into the desert by threatening his stash of money. We tracked him down and Hank had arrested him when these bastards showed up. Mr. White tried to call them off, the son-of-a-bitch, but they start shooting up the place. I hide under a car, trying to find a weapon, but there was nothing. Eventually, after what seemed like ages, the shooting stopped. Agent Gomez was killed, and Hank was shot too. Then the head guy, Jack, holds a gun to Hank's head. Mr. White tries to stop him from shooting, but he does anyway. Mr. White then finds me under the car and orders Jack and his psycho Nazi gang to kill me. But no, they decide to keep me alive and force me to cook Mr. White's meth recipe. They beat me, tortured me… I tried to escape, and they caught me, so…"

Jesse trailed off, small sobs escaping his mouth. He tried to stifle his cries, but they came full force. Jesse sobbed, covering his filthy, dirt and blood-smeared face with his equally grubby hands. Marie, at first taken aback by the pitiful sight in front of her, soon felt sympathy rising in her throat. Soon enough, she was crying too. _I don't even know why I'm crying. Is it because he's talking about Hank? Because Heisenberg is dead? Or do I really feel sorry for this sad creature in front of me?_

Moving forward gently like one would approach a deer, Marie slowly wrapped her arms around Jesse Pinkman. She felt his muscles tense from shock, then relax as he rested his head on her shoulder, sobbing and squeezing her arms. Marie cried too, and placed her hand over Jesse's head, pulling him closer to her.

"They killed Andrea," Jesse whispered through Marie's hair, his voice groggy from the crying. _That must be his girlfriend, _Marie thought, her heart seizing at the memory of losing her beloved Hank. _This poor kid. He's been through hell and back. He deserves a safe place right now. And, after all, he did help Hank. Without this kid, Heisenberg would still be out there, poisoning children and 'cooking' methamphetamine. _

"And they killed Hank," Marie said, biting her lips and recoiling at the warm feel of tears streaming down her cheeks. "But you know what? We're still here."

Jesse pulled back from Marie's embrace and stared into her eyes, dark and warm and welcoming. His own eyes blazed a rich blue in the black midnight.


	3. House Guest

"I supposed you want somewhere to sleep," Marie suggested, swinging her arms by her side. _This is quite possibly the most __awkward human encounter to ever take place on this Earth, _she thought. "Well, um, there's a guest room just down that hallway. I don't think any of Hank's clothes will fit you."

Marie's hospitality made Jesse feel unbelievably guilty and threatened to bring a fresh wave of tears to his eyes. _This may very well be the nicest thing anybody's down for me in six months, __probably even a year, _Jesse thought, feeling warmer already.

"Thanks so much, Ms. Schrader." That was all Jesse's exhausted mind could think of. It may sound simple, but his words carried with them such a strong sense of gratitude that Marie felt sainted.

"It's the least I could do, Jesse," Marie said with just as much importance riding on her words as Jesse's. "Heisenberg is dead. We're safe." Marie couldn't shake the feeling that saying that was premature. _If he really is dead, surely Skyler or the police would've called by now…_

Jesse looked like he was about to fall asleep standing up. He could barely manage to say, "Can I go to bed?" Marie nodded slowly and gently guided him down the hallway to the guest bedroom. Jesse shuffled over to the bed and collapsed right on top of the purple comforter with his shoes still on. Within seconds, his torso seemed to be heaving with grateful sobs.

"Jesse…?" Marie whispered tentatively. _The kid is crying with joy because he has a bed. _Marie felt so incredibly sorry for the deprived, emaciated boy in front of her, weeping over the simple commodity of a warm bed. Not wanting to intrude on Jesse's tearful reunion with normal life, she left the room and softly closed the door behind her.

In the hallway, Marie contemplated putting a table or something in front of the door to keep him in his room, but that seemed cruel and unnecessarily derogatory. After all, he'd spent the past what, six months in a cage?

_I'm not getting any sleep tonight. My meth king brother-in-law is dead and I've got his ex-partner sleeping in my guest bedroom. _Marie rubbed her temples, where a throbbing headache was beginning. _Might as well stay up, wait for the phone call that's sure to come._

Feeling drained but far from sleep, Marie shuffled into the living room and sat on the couch. The whole setting had a deeply surreal and funereal shadow cast across it. Everything was disconnected. An owl hooted outside and Marie scarcely noticed the noise. Every second that went by without a call made Marie even more anxious, on-edge. He was probably dead, but the benefit of the doubt said Heisenberg was still out there. _Would he be looking for Jesse? Sounds to me like he was trying to save him. But if Heisenberg _was _going to kill someone, it would probably still be Jesse. __Or Skyler… Or Flynn… Or...__  
_

The room was growing hotter, stuffy, threatening to smother Marie. Hyperventilating, she rocketed off of the couch and stumbled over to the phone, furiously dialing Skyler's number. But, just as she was about to hit 'Dial', the phone rang, making Marie jump. She answered immediately, not even bothering to check the caller ID.

"H-hello?" she stuttered, terrified out of her wits. The person on the other end could be Skyler, the police, or even _him. _

Relief washed over Marie as Skyler's voice came through the speaker. "Marie? Marie! Listen to me. Walt's dead. The police called, they think he was on some crazy suicide mission to try and kill these rival drug lords or something, I'm on my way over to the morgue right now, I made Flynn stay home with Holly, he's dead, Marie, he's really dead, he has to be-"

"Skyler, calm down, everything's going to be alright." _Am I detecting grief or elation in my sister's voice? _"Do you need me to go over and stay with the kids?" _Sorry, Sky, now's not a good time, I have your meth kingpin husband's ex-partner crashed in my house._

"No, Marie, it's okay, our neighbor's should be there any second." A tense pause. "I can't believe he's dead and I have to identify his body." Another pause, and there was a confusing sound on the other end of the line that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

"Skyler?" Marie asked. _Is she… crying? I mean, he was your husband, but still. I bet Flynn isn't crying. But then again, maybe he is. _"Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not," Skyler mumbled through her tears. "I'm really not. I'm overwhelmed. Don't know what to think. Is my family safe? Should I be sad or relieved that my husband is dead? And if I am sad, does that make me a terrible person?"

"Skyler, absolutely not," Marie said forcefully. She was always good at pulling her sister together. "Walt-" Marie flinched at saying his name. Since she heard about the meth, Marie strictly referred to him as 'Heisenberg' and refused to acknowledge her relation to him. "He's the only terrible person here. It's only natural that you'd feel sad that you're husband is dead, of course." Marie's blood turned to ice as she remembered Hank, then to fire as she remember the man who let him die. "But think of all the good that'll come of this. Your two beautiful children will be safe."

"But will we?" Skyler sniffled back.

Marie couldn't come up with an answer to that. She wasn't sure.

Skyler broke the silence. "I'm here, I've got to go." Skyler stopped talking, but didn't hang up. After a few seconds, Sky drew a shaky breath and thanked her sibling.

"Hey, what are sisters for? Stay strong, Skyler." With that, the two women hung up. Marie cupped the phone in her hands for a few minutes, letting her brain process the life-changing conversation she had just had at this ungodly hour.

Marie's eyelids grew heavier and heavier and her muscles loosened, allowing her to slide into the fetal position on the couch. Eventually, she fell asleep, but kept one eye open the whole night.


	4. Clothed In Mystery

The sun threatened to burn right through Jesse's eyelids, forcing him to wake up after a night of restless sleep. Groggily, he sat up in the bed and, for a moment, completely forgot where he was. _Who's bedroom is this?_ Jesse thought, which was not an uncommon question he asked after a night of promiscuous drug use. But this time it was different. Jesse had slept in this bed before; he remembered the soft comforter, the fluffy pillows. Hell, he even remembered the purple. It was everywhere.

Cautiously, Jesse padded out of the bedroom, walking slowly down the hallway. He passed Marie's room , but the door was open and the bed made. She must be awake. Jesse continued down the hall and turned toward the family room. He was parched; Jesse hadn't had anything to drink in at least, and the chaos of his escape had left him dehydrated. However, on his way to the kitchen, a mumbled call of "Good morning" stopped his heart.

Marie had spent the night on the couch. She too was tired, not sleeping more than four hours before her busied mind woke her from her repose. Her matted hair fell limply across her face, her muscles ached from the awkward position, and goose bumps dotted her skin.

In all fairness, Jesse didn't look any better. There was dirt and blood caked sporadically across his face and his hair had knots that no comb could ever hope to fix. Scars cut deep across his cheeks, and his facial hair was unkempt and grimy. He looked like he'd just been rescued from a desert island. In a way, he had.

The two exchanged awkward glances for a few seconds, tense silence hanging in the air between them. Eventually Marie suggested, "I bet you're starving."

It was far from an understatement. Jesse had been starved for six months, and Marie could tell by the way his ribs rippled under his paper-thin shirt. "Yes, ma'am."

Marie chuckled slightly, partly to alleviate the tension and partly because hearing Jesse call her ma'am struck her as almost cute. "I'll go ahead and make us breakfast. Or lunch," she added, glancing at the clock. It was almost noon. She heard Jesse sniffle and when she turned back to him, saw he was on the verge of tears.

"Hey, hey, Jesse. It's okay. Don't cry," she cooed, rising slowly and approaching him warily like one would approach and injured dog. He may be pitiful, but he was still an ex-criminal. _So am I_, Marie reminded herself, criticizing herself for her judgmental attitude.

She wrapped her arms around him, her hands stroking his protruding vertebrae. He melted in her arms, giving into her embrace and reducing himself to shaky sobs, right in the Schraders' living room.

Minutes dragged by, and finally Jesse's sobbing subsided. "I'm sorry, Marie," he whispered. "It's just-" He trailed off, another cry tugging at the back of his voice.

Marie shushed him gently, giving him a nice squeeze. "It's okay, Jesse. Everything's okay. You know why?"

Jesse sniffled again and withdrew from Marie's arms. Tears had caused muddy streaks to run down his dejected face. A tear ran down his cheek into a relatively new cut and Jesse flinched from the sting. "Why?"

"'cause you're here," Marie answered with maternal confidence ringing in her voice. "I'm gonna keep you safe. Don't worry." She paused to look into Jesse's lightning blue eyes, tinted red from crying. "How about you take a nice, hot shower while I make us something to eat?" Marie had been trying to hide her disgust with Jesse's stench, the rank and foul stink of an unbathed meth-slave.

He nodded and swiveled on his feet to head back to his room, hands in his pockets.

"Can I make you anything special? Like, anything? You need some meat on those bones, boy."

Jesse paused in the hallway to give this question serious thought. Despite every fiber of his emaciated body screaming for food, he hadn't even given thought to what he wanted to eat. Some comfort food to knock him out of his post-captivity haze.

"Mac and cheese," he answered with resolution. "Yeah, that'd be dope. Thanks."

Marie nodded and shuffled into the kitchen to boil some water.

* * *

The sensation of fresh, warm water running over Jesse's beaten and grimy body nearly brought him to tears again. His muscles relaxed, unraveling beneath the heat of the shower.

After a significant amount of scrubbing, Jesse determined he was clean enough and toweled off. _Shoot, what am I supposed to wear? None of Hank's stuff would fit me_, Jesse thought nervously. Staying in the house of the widower killed by your drug-slave-master seemed like a social faux-pas. Doing so practically naked was even worse.

Stepping tentatively out of the bathroom and into the bedroom in naught but a towel, Jesse searched in vain for something to wear. Eventually, he gave up the search and emerged into the hallway under the assumption that Marie was still cooking up lunch in the kitchen. However, she was not.

"OH MY GOD!" Marie dropped the pile of clothes she had been carrying and whipped her hands up to her eyes. Jesse instinctively dropped into a ball on the floor, desperately holding his towel in place.

"PUT THESE CLOTHES ON THEY'RE FLYNN'S OLD CLOTHES I THOUGHT THEY WOULD FIT" Marie yelled rapidly and indistinguishably. On the floor, Jesse scrambled frantically for the clothes, scooping them up and streaking, quite literally, back into his room And slammed the door.

Marie finished the rest of the lunch in a haze while Jesse shakily got dressed in the privacy of his bedroom.


End file.
